


World weary

by Wrathofscribbles



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 08:59:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17895479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: She sees exhaustion when she looks in the mirror.  Spite and fire, too.  With the weight in her bones and the lead in her stomach and the sharp, fragile edges of her smile she thinksthis is what world weariness looks like.Then she meets Lucifer.





	World weary

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer that I don't own Lucifer or any of the show's characters and content.** I just like to play in the devil's sandbox.

****_Are eyes the windows to a soul?_

It’s a question Chloe’s found herself considering several times in her life.  When questioning the worst of humanity’s evil, people who take joy in the suffering of others, desire for their pain.  When faced with her mother’s grief, shutters knocking loose in the storm coming to shore and then the tears came, the loneliness, and an ancient, ageless thing felt by one and all, death an inescapable part of life, its darker twin.

With Dan, too, the spark in his eyes dulling so slowly she missed it, until one day she opened her own and noticed the yawing distance between them.  She’d floundered to cross it, _fix_  it, but by then it was too late.  They’d changed over the years, grown, shifted apart quite without realising it.  Better to part on good terms than remain together and miserable, right?  Right.

But then some nights she’ll tuck Trixie into bed and read her a story and when she glances up... there’s a sadness there.  A lingering stare at the empty space beside Chloe’s chair, where Dan used to sit and pull all the ridiculous faces, do all the ridiculous voices.  A sadness too deep and dark for her _baby,_ and she wonders... did they do the right thing?

She sees exhaustion when she looks in the mirror.  Spite and fire, too.  With the weight in her bones and the lead in her stomach and the sharp, fragile edges of her smile she thinks _this is what world weariness looks like._

Then she meets Lucifer.

Lucifer and all his crazy, his devil persona, his family issues, his flamboyant drama.  Lucifer and his flirtatious smiles and ribald jokes, the wandering eyes and approving purrs, the push and pull of his moods and good graces.  Lucifer and his drive for _vengeance_  and punishment drifting into calmer waters with every case he works, every victim he looks over, every witness he trades barbs and queries with.  He’s impossible to read no matter how much she stares at him and every note she jots down on scrap bits of paper, calm and collected and ever so helpful one day only to be cold and _cruel_  the next, eyes twin voids in the arctic planes of his face, snapping sparks and fire.

He’s a firework, she thinks.  All about the entertainment, the biggest flashes and loudest bangs to wow the crowd.  Most content when he’s surrounded by club goers and admirers and knows the _way_  of the world within his walls.  Most at _ease_  as he slinks around dancing bodies and trades glasses and drink without a care for his wellbeing, so secure in his belief of invulnerability.  He’ll casually bat away some greedy hands and luxuriate under others, twirling to catch the culprit and pull them under the spell he weaves around them with every wink and laugh and twirling dip to the beat thrumming through floor and walls and bones.  There’s so much _energy_  to him, a seemingly bottomless well of it, and Chloe finds herself wondering what happens when it runs out or hits a block.  What happens when he can’t go any higher, when the fuse runs out, when the show is over?  What happens when it goes out in a blinding flare and falls down later?  What happens in the crash and burn that leaves him a dried out husk in the aftermath?

And it _does_ , she’s seen glimpses of it.  His immaculate appearance positively _unkempt_  by Lucifer standards, shoes lacking their shine, the angle of his cufflinks mismatched, rogue curls springing up and around from the careless style of his hair, eyeliner gone and shadows under his eyes, a stray crease or three in his suit.  He’s quiet those days, so quiet, like a reanimated corpse stuffed into the passenger seat between leads with its mouth sewn shut, and no discovery too gruesome or inhumane can shake him from it or stir the fury of justice in him.  Those are the days he can’t meet her stare.  _Him_ , Lucifer, loud and proud in the face of laughter and danger both, so knowledgeable of humanity and all its vices that he can manipulate dozens with only a handful of words if he turned his mind to it... consciously avoiding her glances, her touches, the soft concern all coming from the knotted heart in her chest.  He wards her away, tries to keep her at bay, but Chloe won’t be denied forever.

In his gaze, when she finally catches it on those days, is something exhausted and _worn_.  Like he’s seen a thousand lifetimes and heard a million hurts and suffered so much worse.  In his gaze there’s an old, _old_  soul with the life sucked right out of it.  It’s not _Lucifer_ , it’s not his norm, and it’s so very wrong.

_This is what world weariness looks like_.

* * *

The bow of his head, the slump of his shoulders, the bend of his spine, hands loose and limp where they hang between his knees and he’s never looked so _defeated_  before.  No wisecrack for a greeting or delighted crow of her title, no drink slid across the bar for her or already casually placed atop his piano as though he’s predicted her arrival.  No music either, all the gleaming keys covered and in their silence is the truth he won’t speak - he’s hurting.  She doesn’t know the details, doesn’t know who or what or why, but she doesn’t _need_  to know, does she?  This isn’t about her, not here and now, and it hasn’t been about her, she’s not the one hesitating and running away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, a quiet rasp like he’s been silent for weeks, when she stops where he sits and lays a hand on his shoulder.  Gentle, careful, a silent _I’m here, Lucifer_  when her fingers squeeze.

“No, I’m right where I need to be,” she replies, easy as breathing, and catches the weight of him when he slumps against her.  There’s no more fight in him, nothing left to give, and she curves her hand to the shape of his skull and tucks him close.  Maybe he’ll hear her heartbeat, or maybe it’ll just be her breathing, but no matter the sound she hopes he finds some comfort in it.

_I’m tired_ he screams without saying another word and she shoulders the weight of his world instead, relieves him of the burden in this moment so he might find some _peace_.  She drags her fingers through his hair, slow and circular like she would for Trixie, feels the flicker of tension work through him as quickly as it bleeds away.  “I’m right where I need to be,” she says again, and hears his sigh of relief.

_And I’m not going anywhere._

**Author's Note:**

> My fics can also be [found here](https://scribblesdg.tumblr.com).
> 
> And if you just want to ~~scream~~ chat about Lucifer, you can find me on my [main blog](https://wrathoscribbles.tumblr.com) as well. I don't bite, I promise.


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